Thanks, Tully!

So, about a week ago, I noticed the little mouse hole by the downstairs toilet intake valve was open again. I had stuffed it with Bounce sheets, as I read somewhere that mice can't stand the smell. Well, some mouse with no sense of smell apparently pushed through. I found one of our "no-kill" traps and put it out, and restuffed the hole with Bounce.

It was pushed out again the next day, and the trap was flipped. I picked up the trap, but no mouse was inside. Hmmm. Reset the trap, restuffed the Bounce, wondered what exactly Tully, our cat, was doing around the house if not killing little mice.

Friday morning, I noticed a dead mouse outside on the front walkway. I was going to head out to clean it up after I finished my coffee, but Harrison beat me outside. I heard him crying and rushed out to see what was wrong.

"Mouse!" he cried.

"It's OK, sweetie. Did you see a mouse? Yeah, I think that mouse is only hurt. Mommy will move him so he's more comfortable!" Yep, lying through my teeth.

Or so I thought. When I went to pick up the "dead" mouse, it was actually moving. My skin began crawling in full-on Heebie Jeebies as I carefully picked up the dying mouse with the dog poop rake and moved him to a "more comfortable" death bed, under a tree in an area neither dogs nor boys frequent.

Just typing that makes my skin crawl further.

So, not only does Tully leave partially dead mice on our front walkway, but she also neglects to kill the mice who saunter into our house at will. Yeah, thanks, Tully!

For The Next Visit to Disney

My sister sent this to me, as we are already discussing plans for Christmas. One idea is to go to Disney World. Em said she'd have to be "Mini" Mouse, and I told her my boobs wouldn't look like a mouse face -- more like a weasel. I think that would scare the kids, but then again, you have to have the villains, too!

RIP Mousie

Today, as I was putting some dirty cat litter in the diaper pail in our garage, I picked up a garbage can that had been knocked over. There was nothing in the can, at least not at first glance. Then I noticed something small, furry and deceased.

I don't know how the mouse died. It was just in the garbage can. I didn't end up buying poison on Sunday. We bought some catch and release traps, instead. (Yes, I'm a classic bleeding heart liberal, even when vermin are concerned!) So far, nothing has taken the bait from the traps. I know that Tully was in the garage briefly this morning, and that one of our dogs was in the garage for a few hours when I took Hutton to speech therapy. So, maybe Tully dispatched the cute little thing? Or Fergus? He's a pretty good hunter when small animals are concerned, as you may remember. The mouse was cute - gray with a white stomach and chest. Oh well. I'm not sad about it. And I won't be sad if the rest of its family joins it dead in the garbage can! I'll have to ask Hubby if he knows anything about this.

Hubby's Take: The cat killed the mouse AND put it in the garbage can for us. He said if this is true, Tully will be getting tuna every night from now on.

Mice, I'm Was Trying to Be Nice

I was going to let you have time
to move out of the house
Hey, this rhymes!
Anyway, mouse:

The cat shoulda convinced you to dash
But you aren't being so nice
For today in my lovely yarn stash
I found mouse turds, and what is that - rice?

And on the carpet in Harrison's room
That was vacuumed the day before last
Still more of your nuggets of doom
Now I know this is not in the past.

So you're still here in our domicile
Think you can handle a kitty
Well guess what, little vermin, so vile
Soon you're gonna be in shit city.

Cause tomorrow I lay down the law
And it will be a day you will rue
When you find poison stuck in your craw
And are struggling to live in the glue.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yes, that, er, poetic, heh, interlude was brought to you by our mouse problem. We've now had the cat a week, and today I went into my yarn drawer and found little turds everywhere, along with rice and peanut shells. Well, at least the turds and rice were dry, but still.

After vacuuming those up, I went into Harrison's room. What is this on the carpet? More turds? You've gotta be kidding me! And his closet -- I had an extra changing table pad in there with two holes chewed in it. I threw that in the garage, because I just don't feel like dealing with more vermin-tainted crap tonight.

So, as the kitty snoozes away all cozy upstairs, the mice are apparently moving freely around downstairs. I even moved an extra litter box into the downstairs bathroom to convince the mice to leave, but they seem to be moving deeper into the house instead of out. ARRRGGH! I don't like being outsmarted by tiny little things smaller than my children's feet.

Tomorrow I'm going to get medieval on their asses. Or rather, 21st Century, or the latest version of DCon Mouse Proof I can find, and whatever else the Home Depot has to offer in the way of killing small animals.

Oh, and snaps to www.rhymezone.com I had to rewrite a line that was too corny sounding and it helped me find a good rhyme. Now my poem is perfect. Yeah. Just perfect. Not corny AT ALL.

We Have a New Family Member!

And it's a girl!

And also furry.

Here she is:


Tully in the box

Harrison with Tully -- he chose the dayglo pink collar

Why do we have a new cat, when our house is already full with two dogs, two adults, two little boys, and all of our crap? Well, we also have a family of mice living in our house apparently.

Years ago, we got two little kittens, Jaspurr and Purrcy (yes, I know, I know, but they were badass enough to pull off the cutesy names!) who grew up to be great cats. They got along with the dogs, kept vermin out of our house, were very pretty and loving, and also seemed to be coyote magnets. First Jaspurr disappeared a few weeks before Hutton was born. Then, a few years later, Purrcy, who stayed indoors more than this brother, joined Jaspurr "in the country." I missed the cats, but was distracted with the other new members of the family. Namely, Hutton and Harrison. This winter, when I saw a streak of rodent-sized fur run across the garage, I brought up the idea of getting another cat, but we didn't act on it. I just moved the bird seed to a more mouse-proof container and brought my soccer bag into the house instead of leaving it in the garage.

That laissez-faire attitude went out the window last night.

I was getting Hutton out of the tub, and fussed at him for getting lots of water on the floor during his bath. (He likes to pour water along the edge of the tub, and most of it doesn't end up back in the tub.) Anyway, I was soaking up the water with a towel, when I noticed some black specks on the floor. Now, specks on the floor are a regular occurrence around here. I could vacuum every day, and we'd still have dirt on our floors. But these were no ordinary specks. My heart started racing, in classic chic mode, as I realized these were...eek! Mouse turds! I then noticed a mouse-sized hole in the wall next to the toilet water valve, with little bits of insulation on the floor. As chills ran down my spine, I hustled Hutton into his room, then stormed upstairs.

Hands on hips, I angrily announced to Hubby that we had a BIG PROBLEM. He looked at me as if I were there to complain about something stupid -- a TiVo snafu involving a show only I watch or something like that. I explained the entire mouse story. He continued to look at me in the same manner. As I grew increasingly frustrated that he did not understand the monumental problem - vermin in our house, living in our insulation, breeding like, well, mice, leaving TURDS ON THE FLOOR where our children wash! -- Hubby held up his hands in the, "What the hell?" gesture he does quite frequently and said, "What are we supposed to do about it right now? Run out and buy a cat in the middle of the night?!" I was still angry, on my anti-mouse tirade, but calmed a little when I realized he had a point. I guess I had been expecting him to grab a shotgun and go rip the wall out or something. (And yes, I know a shotgun is not the proper tool for killing mice. It seemed like it would be more dramatic, though.)

I put Hutton to bed, though when I was downstairs I was skittish, waiting for a mouse to jump out at me, picturing myself as a housewife on Tom and Jerry wearing a dress, with only my legs in view, shrieking as a mouse simply went about his business, eating his cheese, totally imperturbed.

Later, Hubby (who still seemed to not care about the hole in the wall, allowing free access to our house to the very animal that helped spread the plague) and I went over our options: traps or a cat. Poison was ruled out because of the kids and when a poisoned animal dies in your insulation, it's not very pretty. So, we went for the old-fashioned favorite.

Today we headed to the Humane Society after I didn't see any good prospects on Craig's List. We checked out the kittens, and played with one, but I was drawn in by Tully, the more mature one year plus kitty. Her profile said she's been an alley cat, left behind when her previous owners moved. She'd had kittens, and the neighbors kept her on the porch. She was allegedly a protective mother, and was "good" with dogs and young children. What really won me over was when we were visiting with her in the giant crate area (I'm not kidding. We were actually in an enormous cage with chairs and some cat stuff), she looked eagerly at the rats available for adoption right on the other side of the bars. After we left the crate, she even started climbing the walls by the rats, trying to get to them.

So, we adopted her and brought her home. She was shy to come out of her box, as she knew there were dogs here. We closed the dogs out of the room, and she slowly emerged, then disappeared under a book shelf for several hours. We let the dogs back in the room, and eventually, after Fergus got his nose scratched, they all seemed to settle down. This evening, Tully cruised around the house examining every room very carefully in classic cat style. She's a total sweetheart who loves to get pats and rub against your hand, and she and Sally seem cool with each other. Fergus will probably take longer. I guess the dogs forgot how to live with a cat. The boys find her hilarious. When she was on my desk, they both laughed about the cat on the desk. I'm sure the novelty of that will end soon, as well.

Oh, and Tully was the name she already had. I didn't name her after the coffee, if that's what you're thinking. Though it wouldn't be unheard of. I think Latte would be more feminine, though.